


the other side of the door

by eg1701



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, If you want it to be lol, Inner Dialogue, Light Angst, M/M, Suicide mention, general roy family nonsense, pre slash, technically it's hurt comfort but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26757052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/pseuds/eg1701
Summary: Three times Tom's shown up on Greg's doorstep.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch & Tom Wambsgans, Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	1. Hungary

**Author's Note:**

> not me writing more low-key pining tomgreg with titles from taylor swift songs

Tom knocked lightly on the door, and when Greg didn’t answer, he pushed it open. There was no way he was going to stand out here like an idiot and wait for Greg to hear him.

“Uh,” Greg looked up from the other side of the bed, where his bag was thrown open, “Hey man. Come in I guess?”

“What the _fuck_ was that?” Tom said, quietly, like Logan might be able to hear somehow, even through several layers of stone and steel, “What the fuck?”

“Yeah,” Greg shook his head, “I don’t- I don’t know.”

Greg’s room was a little smaller than his own, but had the same gaudy old-fashioned looking furniture. Greg’s bag was mostly dumped on the bed, like he’d been looking for something. He sat down on the edge of the bed. The comforter was sort of scratchy, when he ran a hand over it. Greg’s was red, while his own was blue.

“Yeah,” Tom repeated, “I’ve been fucking humilated before but this took the fucking cake.”

Greg shut his bag and slid it off the bed. He came over and stood around Tom, leaning on the bedpost as he did. He was still in his dinner clothes, though he looked distinctly disheveled. Tom wanted, briefly, to ask what he’d come back and done. Had he sat and stared at the wall, like Tom had? But then he decided it wasn’t worth asking. He didn’t want to know.

“Are you going to tell Shiv?”

Tom shrugged, “Maybe. Probably not though.”

He looked at his hands in his lap, twisted his wedding band a few times. He felt strangely unreal, like he wasn’t actually there, but rather watching someone else go through these motions. That was the most embarrassing and humiliating fucking thing he’d ever been though. Not all the jabs from Shiv and Roman and Kendall, not his fucking proposal in the hospital, not Shiv asking for an open marriage on their wedding night, not Caroline’s toast, not even fucking middle school, which should have been everyone’s most embarrassing moment because it was middle school.

But oinking in front of everybody who was anybody in Wasytar, two of his brothers in law, his fucking father in law, and his fucking boss for God’s sake. Oinking for a sausage like an animal.

Would Shiv be on his side, if he told her? She was a daddy’s girl. And that wasn’t bad. It was probably a good thing. What would his life be like if Logan and Shiv weren’t like they were? He didn’t really think Shiv would be sympathetic. He could picture her laughing, her smirking at him. Thank Jesus fucking Christ she hadn’t been at this dinner.

“Hey man, why didn’t you rat me out?” Greg asked. 

He looked up. There was a headache starting in the front of his head-- probably a stress headache, and he’d hardly understood Greg’s words, much less had an answer for him, “What are you talking about?

“About the biographer. I don’t know what the fucking rules were, but like, maybe if you had said it, Logan would have let you out. Would have been, like, nice leverage I guess? I’m, like, pretty sure I would have been the next hunt though.

“Huh,” Tom frowned and realized that this was the first time he had thought about that, “I don’t know. I didn’t think about it I guess. I was too fucking stuck trying to figure out if I was having a nightmare.”

“Oh,” Greg shrugged, and Tom thought he sounded almost disappointed. Whatever the fuck that meant, Tom didn’t want to discover.

“What?” he asked, and pinched the bridge of his nose, “What the fuck does that mean? ‘ _Oh?_ ”

“Nothing,” Greg said, “I was just wondering.”

“Well would you have ratted me out? I bet you would have you asshole.” Tom shot back. It came out harsh, he could hear it in his voice, and he could see it on Greg’s face. He almost winced, like Tom had hit him instead of just talked.

“No,” Greg frowned, “I mean. I don’t know. I don’t _think_ so.”

“That’s a firm answer thanks. It doesn’t matter. Pretend I didn’t ask. I don’t want to even fucking know.”

“I’m gonna be real with you, I thought I was going to like, burst into tears?” Greg said. He finally sat down next to Tom, and he was glad about that. He didn’t like Greg fucking lording over him like that, “That was brutal.”

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, and returned to looking at his hands. Maybe if it had just been Logan yelling at him, calling him poor, and an asshole, and whatever other names he could cook up, it would have been one thing, but this kind of felt like some shitty court jester entertainment. The three of them playing circus while the others laughed and heckled.

And Goddmanit, Tom was married to Logan’s fucking _daughter_. They were _family_.

Karl was different. Even Greg was different, even though it made Tom feel a little bad to think that but it was true. 

Tom was Logan’s son in law. He wasn’t on the same level as them. At least he thought he shouldn't have been. Shouldn’t that have counted for something? 

(But it really hadn’t before. He hoped it would start soon. That the fucking trial period of the marriage was coming to an end, and now he could reap the full benefits. He hoped so, but it seemed really unlikely.)

“Do you think people were too drunk to remember it?” Greg asked hopefully. It seemed like a fucking stupid thing to say. Like a little kid, hoping that in the morning, his parents would forget whatever thing he’d done to get himself grounded. It was a dumb idea, to be that hopeful about anything like this.

“Not a chance,” Tom shook his head. He wanted to sound a little mean, but all it was was fucking depressed sounding, “I sobered up pretty fuckin’ fast didn’t you?”

“Yeah I guess I did.”

“I should go,” Tom said, but made no effort to stand. His legs felt a little heavy, and the idea of just falling back onto this mattress was a nice one, “Guess I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t offered yourself out of embarrassment.”

“I’m fine,” Greg said, “Are _you_ fine?”

“Sure I am,” Tom said, surprised at his own ability to sound believable. Practice he supposed. He pushed himself up and sighed, “I’m swell. I’m going to fucking bed and hoping I don’t wake up tomorrow.”

“Dude.”

“I’m only joking. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”


	2. DC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just have so many feelings about Tom and it's now everybody's problem...

He had to practically bribe the fucking front desk woman to tell him Greg’s room number. It should have been with theirs-- he wasn’t sure why, exactly, they were staying in a hotel, but he hadn’t asked it-- but it was on another floor, and he wasn’t in the mood to knock on every door until he found it. The kind of people who stayed at upscale DC hotels were the same people who watched senate hearings on TV, and his face was sure to be fresh in their minds.

It was nearing midnight. Shiv had yet to return from the party. Tom thought it was a little premature. There was still more testifying to be done, and he had received three incredibly angry calls from his mother who had railed into him for his own testimony, called him embarrassing, and said that they needed to discuss this. 

When he’d have the guts to call her back, he didn’t know. He had been sort of banking on her not watching, but that seemed impossible. Not only had he made a jackass out of himself on national television, but his parents had seen. 

Greg was in his pajamas, and he could hear the TV in the background. He checked his watch, and was pretty sure there was nothing watchable on this late at night. 

“Have you had your mini bar yet?”

“No,” Greg said, “I was too scared I would be hungover for tomorrow.”

“Good. I’m going to,” Tom pushed past him and flung the fridge open, “I’ll pay for them.”

He didn’t wait for Greg’s response, but opened the first thing he grabbed. After a moment of searching, he found something suitable for drinks-- it was probably for morning coffee, but _whatever_ and he poured the entire thing out. 

“I was trying to sleep,” Greg said, “I’m fucking shitting myself about testifying.”

“Sorry,” Tom replied, but he wasn’t really. Sorry wasn’t the right word. Actually, he wasn’t feeling much of anything, and hadn’t for several hours now. Hopefully that would come back soon.

“I’m terrified,” Greg said.

“Uh-huh,” Tom took a sip. It was shitty, cheap alcohol, but it was fine right now. He flung himself into the chair and then took another sip, “It’s terrifying so. Yeah.”

“Why did you fucking drag me into this?” Greg asked. Tom thought that Greg was trying to be mean, trying to match Tom’s ability to yell with vitriol or whatever, but he just sounded like a scared little kid. 

But he didn’t want to make fun of him. He wanted his fucking Mom too at this point. Tom felt like Greg sounded. But how _dare_ Greg lay this at his feet. What fucking right did he have to do that?

“ _Excuse me?_ ” Tom shot back. His anger outweighed any sympathy he had apparently. He could feel the venom in his words. Greg did not get to do this, not right now. Not when things were slipping out of his hands. Not fucking Greg.

“I mean, the documents, and the emails, and everything,” Greg ran a hand through his hair, “Why me?”

“To be honest with you,” Tom said, though his anger wasn’t gone. He wanted to chuck the cup across the room, hopefully with enough aim to bounce off of Greg and get his fucking shitty drink all over Greg’s nice clean, white shirt, “You’re family but you’re not _family_. I thought so back then anyway. But turns out so am I, so it didn’t even fucking matter.”

Greg blinked at him several times with his fucking sad eyes, and Tom almost, _almost_ apologized, but he bit it back. Greg was going down with him. Hand in fucking hand if need be.

“Well thanks,” Greg said finally. He was hurt. Tom knew it. Could hear it in his voice, see it in the way his shoulders slumped, “Thanks.”

“Ah fuck,” Tom sat up, “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry. A lot has happened since then Greg. It’s different now. We’re friends now.”

“Yeah,” Greg replied, but it didn’t sound like that had really helped. 

“I am sorry,” Tom said, “I mean it. That was mean. I told you, sometimes I don’t like who I am. I’m the one that got you wrapped up in this, I’m the one who got fucked by the senate, and I’m the one you should blame for you having to testify.”

Greg shrugged, “It’s alright.”

“It’s not gonna matter,” Tom said, “Shiv’s ensured they won’t have their key witness. And Kendall was perfect. So it won’t matter. It’s formality at this point.”

“It still doesn’t, like, actually make me feel good.”

“Look, if you go down, we’re going down together,” Tom reasoned, “And I’ll put in a good word for you. You were acting on my orders technically.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Greg said quickly. It didn’t sound genuine. Not really. Just like he was saying it because it sounded like the right thing to say.

“I can do one thing right,” Tom whispered, more to himself than to Greg. A siren went off outside. Down the hall someone slammed their door. Still, he and Greg watched each other, like the other way either going to jump out the window, or have some kind of nervous breakdown. Hell, maybe Greg was waiting for him to say _just kidding, you’re on your own!_ but that wasn’t going to happen.

“Right,” Greg said, “Well, uh, like, thanks I guess.”

“You’ll be fine tomorrow,” Tom replied, “You will. It doesn’t matter what you say. We’re fucked anyway. So just, try not to fucking pass out or anything. I don’t want to keep you up. You need your beauty sleep. TV washes you out.”

He stood up, and went over to pat Greg on the shoulder. They stood still for a moment. There was a lot Tom wanted to say, but he didn’t say any of it. Now wasn’t the time. Not when the situation was so precarious. Not now. Maybe one day. Maybe never. He didn’t fucking know.

“Don’t forget to set your alarm,” he smiled. He was relatively certain it looked either deranged or far too forced, “See you around the Capitol Building.”


	3. The Yacht

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look the timeline's a little fuzzy, just pretend it makes sense
> 
> I know this probably isn't even close to what will end up being canon but let's pretend, so i can avoid any of the Betrayal that will probably arise next season.
> 
> this is also me formally telling u that greg is literally one of the smartest on the show and i will not be taking questions.

Tom almost felt like he might pass out. 

The past few hours, the meetings, and Shiv and Logan, and all of it felt like a fucking anvil on his chest. He couldn’t get enough air.

Going to Greg’s room felt like the right thing to do. The easiest thing. 

“I thought you might come,” Greg said when he knocked. He’d barely waited twenty seconds for the door to open-- Greg had been waiting for him, a small voice in his head said, “Come in.”

“I think we’re about to get fucked,” Tom said. He sat down on the bed.

“I mean I guess we make sense. More sense than some of the others.” Greg frowned, “I mean. Yeah. It makes sense.”

“Fuck,” Tom ran a hand over his face, “Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ ”

“I don’t think it’ll be you,” Greg said suddenly. He was attempting to be reassuring. Tom knew this, but it had the opposite effect honestly, “Shiv- I mean, I think she’ll save you.”

“You’d like to think that wouldn’t you.”

Greg opened his mouth, but then didn’t end up saying anything. Tom had no interest in sharing anything about his marriage with anybody. Not even Greg, who he was almost certain was his only friend, and wasn’t that just saying something.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Tom said, the words practically falling out of his mouth, “I’m so fucking sorry about all of this.”

He put his face in his hands, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. It hurt a little, made him see spots, but he honestly felt like he was going to start crying, and there was no way he was going to let that happen. Not in front of Greg. Greg was the last person who was going to see him cry.

“Hey,” Tom felt the bed sink slightly, felt Greg put an arm around him, “Hey man, it’s alright. Like, it’s going to be alright.”

“No it isn’t,” Tom said thickly, finding that he meant it. It wouldn’t be alright. Even if he was spared it was not going to be alright. He could feel his marriage slipping out of his hands, could feel his fucking life crumbling around him. Nothing was going to be alright.

He could also feel Greg’s arm. It was nice. Reassuring. Felt real almost. Friendly. 

“I think it will be,” Greg said, “I mean, like, maybe in the end somehow. Maybe it’ll be, like Kendall or someone.”

“Maybe,” Tom removed his hands and sighed. He felt like he’d mostly managed to push the tears back, bully them into staying in his head, but his hand was shaking ever so slightly, “I fucking hope you’re on to something.”

Greg looked like he wanted to say something, but he just smiled, and Tom sort of wanted to smack the goofy smile right off his face. How fucking _dare_ Greg smile about this? 

“I think it will be alright,” Greg said again. 

“What do you fucking know?” Tom shot back.

Greg shrugged, “I’m just hoping I guess. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m too tired for fucking mindgames, so whatever you’re fucking plotting, have fun I guess. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Just like, if Shiv won’t, then like, I will. Take care of you.”

Tom laughed. It came out incredibly harsh, completely humorless, “Sure Greg.”

“I’m serious.”

“Alright,” Tom patted his knee, condescending as hell, but he didn’t even care, “Sure. What fucking ever.”

He was too tired to even humor Greg at this point. One part of him was curious as to what Greg was talking about, but he kind of didn’t care. Things would continue to happen around him and to him and he’d just continue to play a passive role in his life until he died. Suited him just fucking fine right about now.

“You can uh, you can crash here for a bit if you want to. Away from like everybody else,” Greg said quietly, “I don’t mind. The sun, it like, makes you tired.”

Tom glanced wearily back at the bed. 

It seemed inviting, the nice clean comforter and crisp white sheets, and after a moment, he nodded, just once, crawled onto it, and practically collapsed. After another agonizingly long minute or so, Greg got into the bed as well. Tom was dreading the morning, when things were surely only going to get worse. He didn’t know what time it was, where anyone else was, but he was acutely aware of Greg’s fucking eyes on him. Watching him. Maybe trying to read his mind.

“I’m serious,” Greg said. There was plenty of space between them. He was pretty sure the bed was at least a queen, but it felt pretty fucking intimate, “I think I might have a solution.”

“Whatever you say,” he said, “I don’t care. Just stop fucking talking about it. _When_ we’re fucking dragged up to have our heads chopped off in front of the rabid crowd, then you can let me in on your little scheme alright? Until then I couldn’t give a fuck Greg. I mean it. I just want to go to sleep for the next six months.”

“Alright,” Greg said, “Deal.”

He wasn’t really sure what Greg meant by a plan, or whatever it was. He didn’t exactly want to know, not right now, when he thought he might actively be one bad thing away from a nervous breakdown. 

But he sort of hoped Greg was right. Greg, who somehow had managed to scheme his way into Waystar, into an office, into the fucking family. What did Greg know that he didn’t?

“Stay on your fucking side,” Tom said, grabbing one of the pillows and setting it in the empty space, “I’ll hit you, I swear to God I will.”

“I’ll stay over here,” Greg said quietly/

Either three hours or three weeks later— Tom wasn’t sure. Time wasn’t working right anymore. He didn’t know how long had passed and he’d long since lost track— Kendall was the designated victim. Maybe Shiv had asked Logan to spare him. He thought maybe she had. It had spared Greg too, inherently, but he was sure that hadn’t been her motive. 

Tom watched the press conference from their room. Shiv had gone to watch with Logan. At least that’s what he assumed. She hadn’t actually told him where she was going.

_Oh,_ he thought, when he saw Greg standing there, folder in hand, _that’s what he meant._

He couldn’t help but smile, just a bit, in spite of himself. He was smiling before he even knew he was. Greg should have told him, shouldn't have hid that shit from him, but he still couldn’t help but smile.

**Author's Note:**

> appreciate you as always. you can always find me at feuillytheflorist on the tumblrs.


End file.
